


bits and pieces

by jeserai (eorumverba)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eorumverba/pseuds/jeserai
Summary: "I know I can't ask you to, but—I wish you could stay forever." / "I can't, but I'll stay as long as you want me to."





	1. table of contents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> each day's fic can be read separately, in any order—however, day 7 has minor ties back to day 1

day 1 - nightmares/dreams ; modern au

> _Relief is a thick blanket, settling heavy and warm over Adora’s whole body, and she nods even though she’s not sure if Catra can see it. “I know I can’t ask you to, but—I wish you could stay forever.”_

day 2 - together/apart ; modern au

> _And Adora’s heart stops. She wonders for a moment if Catra can feel it, as far away as she is, wonders if Catra can tell what those seven simple words have done to her. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”_

day 3 - futuristic/ **medieval** ; medieval princess/knight au

> _“Call me Adora when it’s just us two,” she says between giggles one day. Her face is red; Catra has her pinned down and had tickled her breathless, and the realization makes her reel back, eyes wide. Princess Adora’s hair has fallen from its high updo, and her dress is mussed from the time she’d tried to escape, and. Catra realizes that she’d stopped thinking of her as the Crown Princess a long time ago._

day 4 - silver/gold ; ancient gods au

> _“There are also many comparisons to heavenly bodies—She-Ra, the sun, C’yra both the moon and the stars—showing again that while they were related, they were also enemies. The moon and stars swallow the sun each night, and the sun rises again each morning. Anyway. Another thing that every myth I have read has in common is that C’yra was the only being—divine or mortal—that could mortally wound She-Ra. But other times, C’yra is referred to as She-Ra’s second sword. Their relationship was volatile, built on blood and war, but when their morals—She-Ra’s need for justice and C’yra’s need for retribution—collided, it was said that the earth and even the sky would tremble at their combined wrath.”_

day 5 - promises/lies ; fencing au

> _She’s so fucking proud—and at the end of the day, as they sit slumped next to each other in the back of the bus together, with a gold medal heavy around her neck and the silver tucked safely in Catra’s bag, Adora knows there’s no place she’d rather be._

day 6 - fantasy/reality ; witch au

> _“What’s your name?”_
> 
> _“Out of all the things in the world, that is what you want?” as the girl comes closer to her, Adora finds herself trapped, unable to move even if she wanted to. (Not that she wants to.)_

day 7 - free day ; modern au

> _And now, Adora can’t help thinking about Catra driving across town at two in the morning to comfort her after a bad dream, can’t help thinking about all of the things she’s said—I’d follow you anywhere, I’ll stay by your side, I’ll stay as long as you want me to, you’re everything to me—and her heart skips a beat._


	2. day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relief is a thick blanket, settling heavy and warm over Adora’s whole body, and she nods even though she’s not sure if Catra can see it. “I know I can’t ask you to, but—I wish you could stay forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1 - nightmares/dreams

At 2:32 in the morning, Adora jerks awake.

Her heart is racing and she's sweating, trembling as she fumbles for her phone. Working almost on instinct, she texts Catra; it’s unlikely that she’ll be awake, but—

Almost immediately, Catra is calling her.

“Were you awake?”

Catra hums low in her throat in response, and Adora’s stomach sinks as she realizes that no, she wasn’t. But her heart is still pounding in her throat from the dream, and when Catra asks in her rough, sleepy voice what had happened, she blurts out, “I had a really bad dream.”

Silence for a few long minutes, and Adora is about to move to hang up, sure that Catra has fallen asleep again, when she mumbles, “What happened?”

And Adora...doesn’t want to say, doesn’t even want to  _ think  _ about it, because it had all felt so real, because it had been  _ Catra,  _ but— “We...I was on the edge of a cliff, and I thought you would pull me up, but…” and she can still hear it, Catra’s voice as she let Adora fall, can still feel the sting of disbelief and betrayal in her heart, still remembers letting go and falling and—

“Hey,” Catra says. There comes the sound of shifting, like she’s sitting up maybe, and then a quiet yawn before she says, “Adora, you know I’d never,  _ ever  _ do anything to hurt you. You’re…I dunno, you’re everything to me.”

The clock glares out 2:38 am now.

“I know.”

As another long yawn filters through Adora’s earbuds, her heart seizes up and she blurts out, "Please don't go. Don't leave. Please." And that's all she says, but she really means don't leave  _ me.  _ She doesn’t know exactly why she says it, just that she doesn’t want to be alone right now.

Silence but for the rustle of blankets and Catra's quiet breaths. "Just for tonight," she says eventually, and then, just as quiet, "I won't leave you, Adora."

Relief is a thick blanket, settling heavy and warm over Adora's whole body, and she nods even though she's not sure if Catra can see it. "I know I can't ask you to, but—I wish you could stay forever."

"I can't," Catra agrees, "but I'll stay as long as you want me to."

Adora's heart thuds quick quick quick in her chest and she closes her eyes as if that will drown out the memory of Catra's face and the sincerity of her voice.  _ I love you I love you I love you  _ thuds quick in her heart, but she swallows the words down to instead say, “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything, dumbass,” (Adora can practically see Catra rolling her eyes) “you don’t have to thank me.”

Adora bites her lip to hide all the things she wants to say, and nods even though she knows Catra can’t see her. “Fine then, are you tired?”

“I’m fine, I told you to call me if you ever felt like this, remember? I can stay up if you need me too—”

“No! No, I’m fine, really, I just...I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

“I don’t know, just keep talking to you, I guess—”

“I’ll be there in five, then. Since you obviously can’t even  _ begin  _ to function without me.” And before Adora can protest, or even come up with a retort, Catra hangs up.

And true to her word, in just under ten minutes, there’s a familiar little tap at her window. Adora bites back a smile as she opens it and lets Catra tumble in, watching in amusement as she brushes herself off. “You know, you have a key for a reason, right?”

“Well, hello to you too.” and then Catra squints at her, asking in the most deadpan voice Adora has ever heard, “one, is that my hoodie, and two, why the  _ hell  _ do you sleep in hoodies? No wonder you had a nightmare, stupid.”

“One,” Adora mimics, “you left it here. It’s mine now. And two, I—” and she is  _ not  _ about to say that she put it on because it smelled just a little bit like Catra, she is  _ not.  _ Somehow, the shit-eating grin on Catra’s lips says that she already knows. “I just got cold, okay? Shut  _ up. _ ”

“Of course. Totally believe you. I can take it back for a little so it smells like me more if you want, you know.”

“Oh my god, how are you  _ this  _ annoying?”

“Years of practice—you of all people should know  _ that. _ ” Catra even throws a wink at her before climbing into Adora’s bed like it belongs to her. She lays down in the spot next to the wall (just like always) and throws Adora exasperated look on her face when she doesn’t immediately follow.

“Dude, are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, just…”  _ I think I’m in love with you— _ ”I don’t want to sleep.”

“Then we won’t sleep. We can just talk or something, stupid.”

“Fine,” Adora mutters. Partially to appease Catra and mostly because she always overheats when they sleep together, she takes the hoodie off (and tosses it on the floor just for the outraged look she gets) before climbing into bed and settling herself close enough that the lengths of their bodies touch. And from there, it’s all old routine; their legs tangle so that one of Adora’s is between Catra’s, and Catra’s arms wrap around Adora’s neck as Adora lets hers wrap around Catra’s waist. Like this, and with Catra’s face tucked into Adora’s neck, wrapped so entirely around her best friend, all Adora feels is peace.

She falls asleep listening to Catra contemplate other lives and different versions of them, and this time, when she falls asleep, she dreams of Catra taking her on a date (not that she’ll ever tell her that), and she wakes still held close in Catra’s arms.

It feels like home.


	3. day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Adora’s heart stops. She wonders for a moment if Catra can feel it, as far away as she is, wonders if Catra can tell what those seven simple words have done to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 2 - together/apart

Adora can't hide her joy at seeing the notification pop up with Catra's name and a request to video call. It's been almost a week since they'd spoken last—only the third or fourth time since they'd met that they hadn't talked each day.

She's never gotten used to it. And she wants to ask where Catra's been, what's new, but Catra's never been good with questions like that. Adora  _ knows  _ that she has to be patient when it comes to Catra, but that doesn't make it any easier.

As Catra’s face pops up on her phone’s screen, Adora can immediately tell that something is just a little bit off. She doesn’t know what exactly, because Catra doesn’t look any different, and she doesn’t sound any different when she speaks, but she just  _ knows  _ on some instinctive level that something is  _ wrong _ .

“Hey...are you okay?”

Catra ignores her. “I have to say something,” she says instead, gaze down and to the left, “if I don’t say it now, I won’t get the courage to say it again.”

Adora’s heart thuds  _ hard  _ in her chest, and she knows that this is it, that this is what’s wrong. She also knows that whatever Catra is going to say, she’s not going to like it. “What is it?”

Catra takes a deep breath, and looks at her head-on for the first time. “I think we should stop being friends.”

And Adora’s heart stops. She wonders for a moment if Catra can feel it, as far away as she is, wonders if Catra can tell what those seven simple words have done to her. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Catra huffs out a dry laugh and shrugs as her gaze slides away again. “That’s understandable.”

“Can you at least...explain? Why this, why now?”

“I don’t want to make this any harder than it has to be—”

“God, Catra! I think we’re a little bit passed that point!”

Even as the words tear from her, Adora knows it was the wrong decision. Catra’s never been good with direct confrontation, never been good with being pushed or ordered around, but she can't bring herself to care right now. She’s trembling, shaking, her heart is thudding in her throat; she doesn’t know if she’s going to puke or pass out, just that everything she feels right now is  _ bad. _

She feels shattered.

“I just can’t do this anymore. And I’m sorry if this hurts you, but I just  _ can’t,  _ okay? It’s not—just...please let me do this. You loving me is just...too burdensome, I’ve always been uncomfortable by it.”

And somehow, all Adora feels is fondness, because— “Why didn’t you just  _ say  _ that?”

Catra shrugs. She’s still looking down, so she doesn’t see the way Adora hurriedly wipes the tears that have fallen—and if she does, she ignores it. “I thought I could accept it and be your friend like this. I stopped all the flirting for a reason, you know.”

Which is. Adora very distinctly remembers Catra flirting just a few days ago and so many times before, but she decides not to bring that up. Instead, she takes a slow breath and reels in all the explosive emotions that she feels in favor of calmly saying, “To me, it didn’t seem like anything had changed, or like anything was wrong. You  _ know  _ me, do you  _ really  _ think I would have kept saying all of those things if I knew it hurt you?”

For only the second time, Catra’s gaze flicks up to her before she looks back down. “I would’ve felt awkward if I told you to stop and you did.”

Again, Adora feels that surge of strangely out of place fondness, but she swallows it down and shakes her head. “It would’ve been fine— _ we’re _ always fine. And a little awkwardness is better than  _ this. _ ”

“You’re not  _ listening  _ to me, Adora. I’m telling you, I would’ve still felt uncomfortable.”

“Okay! Okay, I hear you. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry that I hurt you like this.  _ Please  _ believe me, Catra, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Catra shrugs and nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And—” here, she hesitates, heaving a sigh before falling silent for a few long moments. “If you can forgive me, I wouldn’t be opposed to being friends again one day when your feelings fade. But if you want to cut things off here, I would understand that too.”

_ You’re the one that started this,  _ Adora wants to say,  _ and why would I want us to stop being friends when you’re everything to me? _ “Do you want that?”

“Yes.” she says it immediately, the answer almost tearing itself out of her, and Adora bites down a relieved smile, because that’s what she wants too. It’s what she’s been saying for months now, that she just wants to stay by Catra’s side, that she wants them to be together. But only—

“Promise me you’ll tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable? No matter how small it is?”

Adora can tell Catra is startled by the look she gives her, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed. She knows it’s stupid, knows that all of her friends will tell her to stay away from Catra, that this will just happen again, but— “I told you before, all I want is to stay by your side. I meant that.”

Catra mutters soemthing under her breath that sounds distinctively like _you're so_ _ stupid  _ (Adora ignores it) and then, louder, says, “I promise. And Adora? I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

By now, the frantic thudthudthud of her heart has slowed, but when Adora raises her hands, they still tremble. She’s not afraid anymore though, of losing Catra, because after  _ everything  _ they’ve been through together… “I know. And—” stalling, because this is it, for however long, and already, Adora misses Catra down to her very soul. “Catra, you know I’m here for you if you need, okay? Really.”

“I’ll be  _ fine, _ ” Catra rolls her eyes, just like always, and Adora chews on her lip  _ hard  _ to keep from grinning; this conversation is probably almost as old as their relationship, and it always, always comes back up again. “Really, stop worrying about me all the time, Adora.”

“No can do, you’re stuck with me, this is what you get.”

“ _ Damn, _ ” Catra mutters, as if to herself, “I gotta think of some way to get rid of you, then.”

“ _ Shut  _ up. Anyway—”  _ I’ll miss you,  _ or  _ I’ll talk to you later,  _ or  _ I’ll be back soon, _ Adora knows she should say, but nothing comes out.

As if she can tell what Adora is thinking, Catra just nods, completely serious for once. “Then goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye for now.”

(Adora doesn’t let out the breath she’s holding until Catra accepts the call. Thankfully, Catra looks just as nervous as she feels, but as soon as she breathes out, “Hi,” all of the apprehension fades away, and Adora smiles big.

“Hey.”)


	4. day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Call me Adora when it’s just us two,” she says between giggles one day. Her face is red; Catra has her pinned down and had tickled her breathless, and the realization makes her reel back, eyes wide. Princess Adora’s hair has fallen from its high updo, and her dress is mussed from the time she’d tried to escape, and. Catra realizes that she’d stopped thinking of her as the Crown Princess a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was told that the brief supper/dinner thing was confusing so : in medieval times dinner was what we now call lunch and supper was dinner
> 
> day 3 - futuristic/medieval

Catra is just a page when she first meets the Crown Princess. She doesn’t know much about her—just that her name is Adora, she will inherit the kingdom when she comes of age, and that she is the person that she will swear fealty to when she comes of age. So she’s expecting someone regal, imposing even, not a kid that looks the same age as her. She almost laughs, but seeing Scorpia standing straight and tall and entirely serious for once in front of the tiny Princess makes her realize that—this really  _ is  _ the Crown Princess. So she stands up straight and bites back her giggles, observing the Princess as she stands next to her parents.

Princess Adora has chubby cheeks and pale skin, her hair is braided back intricately, and her dress, braided through with gold, looks like it costs more than Catra’s parents could ever dream of affording. With the gold of her hair and dress and the softness of her skin, Catra can see why everyone in the village calls her Grayskull’s Golden Rose. Everything about her shows how delicate, how _ rich  _ she is: she has never had to worry about where her next meal would come from, that she has never even worked a day in her life.

But her eyes.

When their gazes meet, Catra frowns at how  _ dead  _ they look—looking into Princess Adora’s eyes is like looking into a blank slate, no emotion, no life, no nothing.

That is what catches Catra’s attention in the beginning.

And maybe something about her has caught Princess Adora’s attention too, because the day after the short ceremony and lengthy dinner (Catra spends the whole time watching Princess Adora, and frequently finds that the Princess is looking back at her too), Scorpia sits her down after training, and says, “Do you enjoy training under me?”

“Not really,” Catra easily dodges Scorpia’s fist, but her knight is smiling—they both are. “I mean, I do. I really do, you know I do—why?”

Here, Scorpia hesitates, chewing at her lip like she knows that Catra won’t like what she’s going to say. “I have been informed that Princess Adora...she wants you to be her personal guard.” and before Catra can protest, because she is  _ going  _ to protest, Scorpia continues, “I told the Queen that you are too young—not even a squire—and so they decided that you will be her companion more than anything. When you come of age, if she still desires, you will be her personal guard.”

“What now, then?”

Scorpia reaches out—then thinks better of it and retracts her hand. “Your mornings will be spent with Princess Adora, and your evenings with me. This  _ does  _ mean that you will have to work harder than the other pages—and the other squires—to keep up with your training. But I figured you would be up for that task.” Before Catra can say that of  _ course  _ she is, Scorpia holds up a hand to silence her. “Sleep now, and I will take you to Adora in the morning. And I mean that— _ sleep _ .”

Catra rolls her eyes, but (for once) does as she’s told, if only to make her knight proud.

She wakes before dawn, and stays up until Scorpia comes for her just after the sun fully rises. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Catra shrugs, tries for nonchalance even though her stomach is rolling with nerves. What if the Princess doesn’t like her? What if she has her thrown out of the castle or—

“I asked around last night to find out the Princess’s schedule. Morning mass, breakfast, lessons until dinner, and then she has free time until supper. You only have to stay until supper—we will meet here at sundown. Okay?”

_ No, it’s not okay,  _ Catra wants to say,  _ you’re handing me off to a brat that sits around and does nothing all day when you know I’d rather do anything else, even train with Kyle.  _ “Yes.”

“Good,” Scorpia says, and gives her a soft, genuine smile. It’s bittersweet, and Catra quickly looks away as her eyes begin to sting with tears. “It won’t be so bad, Catra.”

Before she leaves, Scorpia gives her a hard look before saying, “And  _ behave.  _ Your behavior reflects on me.” There is no bite in the words though, just Scorpia’s usual softness, and Catra nods, if only because she can tell that Scorpia really did try to keep her close.

The day is...boring.

Catra barely manages to stay awake during mass, like usual—Scorpia has given up on getting her to go, but sitting slumped next to the Princess, who sits with her back ramrod straight and her eyes fixed firmly ahead, makes her skin prickle with nerves, so she tries her best to stay awake even though she retains not a single word that was said.

Princess Adora does not say a word to her, not during mass, nor during breakfast. She keeps her eyes down, the picture of icy elegance, and Catra outright snorts. Somehow, the sudden noise makes the Princess startle and look up in alarm, and that is the first time Catra sees any emotion in her eyes.

“Hey, Princess,” Catra says then, made bold by the crack in her facade. The Princess frowns a little, but she nods just the tiniest bit and looks back down at the table, and her empty plate.

“Why did you have me come here if you won’t even  _ look  _ at me?”

This time when Princess Adora looks up, it’s almost as if she is seeing Catra for the first time. Not like Catra wasn’t there, but as if she is just waking up after a long sleep. “I…” and her voice is so quiet that Catra actually leans in, as if that will help her hear. “I just wanted a friend, I think.”

And oh,  _ oh.  _ Because Catra doesn’t really have any friends either, but she at least sees the other pages every day—even the other squires and knights. But Princess Adora has no one.

She doesn’t know why, but it makes something in her heart tug. Catra stands, comes close to Crown Princess Adora, kneels at her feet, and says, “I’ll be your friend. Forever.”

And Princess Adora kneels as well, folds their hands together, and says, “Thank you.”

If Catra is being honest, she doesn’t really mind being by Princess Adora’s side once she  _ really  _ gets to know her. Because while the Crown Princess is quiet, demure, placid during all of her endless lessons and meetings, when it’s just the two of them, Adora, her Adora, is almost as playful as Catra is. If things were different, Catra often thinks, they would be the best of friends.

(“Call me Adora when it’s just us two,” she says between giggles one day. Her face is red; Catra has her pinned down and had tickled her breathless, and the realization makes her reel back, eyes wide. Princess Adora’s hair has fallen from its high updo, and her dress is mussed from the time she’d tried to escape, and. Catra realizes that she’d stopped thinking of her as the Crown Princess a long time ago.

“Okay, Adora,” is all she says, sitting low on Adora’s hips to let her breathe. When they hear footsteps, they both scramble up, but it’s just the Queen, who lets out a heavy sigh when she sees how just barely put together they are.)

Everyone agrees though, that they have never seen the Princess so happy, so lively. Catra preens.

But—

When the last of the pages in her year turns fourteen, Catra kneels with the other pages in front of the king as they are made squires.  _ Squires.  _ When it is her turn, Catra glances up and over at Adora, and sees her friend positively beaming.

But—

Being a squire means more training, and less time spent with Adora. The time they have together is like the beginning, all lessons and meetings and etiquette; Catra tries not to think about it, but Adora will be married away one day, and that will be the end of their friendship. (She can’t  _ not  _ think about it, especially when Adora demands that Catra help her practice her dancing. Her hands are soft, delicate, and her cheeks are flushed pink, and for the life of her, Catra can’t forget the warmth of Adora’s hip from even under her dress.)

But—

It is just the two of them (a rare thing these days) walking through the gardens, and Adora keeps clearing her throat, much to Catra’s amusement. “What’s wrong, Adora?” she drawls. She wishes she had something to help, but she does not.

“Just...something in my throat.”

“It’s just us, you can cough if you want.”

Adora glances around to verify Catra’s amused statement, then nods and  _ coughs,  _ loud and quite unladylike. Catra always jokes nowadays that Adora’s suitors will have  _ quite  _ a shock when they realize that the Golden Rose of Grayskull coughs like a man, picks up curses from every foreigner that passes through, and enjoys sparring with the squires.

“God, you sound like you just hacked up a lung,” Catra mutters. Adora hits her hard, but she’s laughing, and Catra rolls her eyes again.

“Are you okay, though? Really.” Seeing a nearby bench, Catra offers her arm and leads Adora to it, watching as she sits and fixes her long skirts around herself before sitting as well.

“Yeah...just a cough. It should go away soon. I’ve been trying to hide it.”

“Ah,” Catra shudders at the thought of medicine being forced down Adora’s throat—neither of them have ever enjoyed even the sweetest of medicines. “Still, if it persists…”

“If it lasts another week, I  _ promise  _ I will tell someone.”

A week. That’s probably the best she’ll get, so Catra doesn’t even bother with arguing. “Nothing strenuous until you’re better, okay?”

Adora grumbles something under her breath and nods. “Do you have to go soon?” she asks. Her voice is filled with longing, and Catra—

“If I could stay, I would, princess. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Adora rests her head on Catra’s shoulder, sighing softly again. “I know.”

(Catra is late to help at the stables again, but the phantom warmth of Adora’s body makes it worth it.)

True to her word, Adora tells her mother about her cough—only because Catra is there, and prompts her—and is promptly hurried into bed. “You two kept this secret for a _ week _ ,” they are both chided, Catra standing still and somber, Adora lying trapped in bed, “Stars, what am I to do with you?”

“Queen Marlena—with all due respect, It  _ was  _ all Princess Adora’s idea,” Catra says innocently, “she _ ordered _ me not to tell you.”

It is only because she grew up together that all Catra receives is a stern glare and word back to Scorpia of what they’d done. (Scorpia just rolls her eyes, sighs, and forbids her from seeing the Princess for a week. “Really, the two of you spend  _ every  _ day together,” she says over Catra’s protests, “a week will do the two of you good. Especially with the Princess sick.”)

And a week later, when Catra finally bursts into Adora’s room—

She is still in bed. Awake, but just barely; she startles when the door bangs open and smiles wide when she sees Catra. “Catra!”

“Hey, Adora. Still sick?”

Adora wrinkles her nose and shrugs as she struggles to sit up. “I keep  _ telling  _ everyone that I feel fine. Father has forbade me from leaving until I get better, though.”

“Oh,” Catra turns to leave, “I guess I’ll—”

“No! Don’t—” Adora is cut off by another fit of coughing, her cheeks blotching red again as she fumbles for the handkerchief on her side table. Catra is immediately at her side, filling the emptied cup full of water and passing it to Adora when her coughing subsides.

“Adora…”

“I’m  _ fine, _ Catra.” Adora’s voice is just a ltitle bit rough now, just a little bit strained. “Just please, stay.”

“Okay...I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.” It’s a bit more awkward now, at fifteen, to lie in bed together, especially with Adora trapped under all of the thick blankets, but—Adora is warm, and the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla is filling her nose, and before she knows it, Catra is fast asleep at Adora’s side. Always at her side.

What wakes her is more of Adora’s coughing; she clearly had been trying to muffle it, but she stops when she realizes that Catra is awake. “Sorry—” she manages between coughs, “I was—”

Catra stops her with a hand to her thigh, gets her another glass of water, and tells the next person that comes in to check on Adora that she needs more medicine. She leaves afterwards; can’t stand seeing her friend hurting and knowing that she can’t do anything about it.

Word quickly spreads that the kingdom’s Golden Rose is ill, and for possibly the first time in her life, Catra hates that she is so close to Adora. There are rumors all around—most to some degree that the Crown Princess is dying—and anyone and everyone that knows of her relationship with the Princess stop her to ask what’s wrong, is the Princess really going to die? All Catra does is glare at them; even if she hadn’t been forbidden from telling anyone about Adora’s condition, she wouldn’t have. She’s seen how little privacy Adora has, and—

Catra sometimes wonders if the fierce urge to  _ protect  _ is normal. Sure, Adora  _ is  _ the Princess, but she doesn’t feel anything close to the same urge towards the pages and squires and knights that she’d grown up with. Just Adora.

(But that is something she only thinks about late at night, after training, after everyone has gone to sleep.)

Adora’s cough never really goes away, but she is soon deemed well enough to leave her room, and the first thing she does with her newfound freedom is—

“Seriously, Adora?”

“Yes!” Adora laughs as she rushes passed Catra into the stables, “I missed them all so much!”

The  _ horses.  _ Catra rolls her eyes, fond beyond belief. Of course her Adora would miss a bunch of horses.

“You’re so stupid,” she mutters under her breath. Adora either does not hear, or just pretends not to; Catra is sure it’s the former with how busy she is with petting the horses.

The second thing she does is walk with Catra through the village, greeting her subjects with that perfect, pretty smile and gentle words to reassure everyone that she is fine, not dead or anywhere near it. Talk sweeps through the village afterwards, about how beautifully their Golden Rose is growing up. Catra rolls her eyes every time she hears the nickname, and teases Adora about it all the way home.

With sixteen comes the first ball thrown in Adora’s honor. It is also the first year that everyone, from peasants to nobles, is able to attend—also courtesy of Adora. Catra is with her when she picks her dress, a pretty red gown that shows off her tiny waist. As most of her dresses are, this one is also braided through with gold, and on a whim, Catra picks a rose and puts through the fancy bun in Adora’s hair. (“It’s not golden, but still,” she grins. Adora’s cheeks flush pink, and she doesn’t take it off for the whole day.)

The ball is much too stuffy for either of their tastes; Catra spends most of it with the other squires while Adora spends it swamped with royals and nobles and peasants alike. They’re matching (mostly unintentional) and Catra loves the way her men’s clothes fit her. Catra is the first person Adora heads to when she is free, and Catra meets her halfway, holding out a hand to ask her to dance. Somehow, even though they’d done this thousands of times before, it still feels like the first time, holding Adora in her arms as they swirl together through the crowd of dancers. And now, Catra wishes the night would never end.

But at Adora’s whispered request, she steers them towards one of the unused balconies, hiding out for as long as they can. Being alone together like this makes Catra’s heart thud hard in her chest, and now, she thinks she understands why.

After the ball, Adora’s illness worsens—everyone attributes it to the cold weather, but whatever the reason, Adora is kept indoors for almost a month. It is the longest she and Catra have ever gone without speaking to each other, and when Catra meets Adora in the library, she stops.

“You look awful,” she drawls. She’s grinning, she knows she is, but Adora really  _ does  _ look bad. Her skin has a sickly pallor, and her eyes are dull again, with heavy shadows under them. But Adora smiles when their gazes meet, and she closes the book she had been reading to meet Catra by the fire.

“Being inside for this long will do that to you, I suppose,” she murmurs. She’s looking Catra over as well, and she reaches out slowly, sighing out a breath when Catra meets her halfway. Catra is relieved to feel that her hands are still warm.

“Still, princess. You have to stop getting so sick—what’s even wrong with you?”

“I…” Adora looks down and to the left, and Catra knows that whatever she is about to say will be a lie. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Adora quickly looks up, clearly startled, and Catra grins. “We’ve known each other for almost eight years now, Adora. I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Right, of course.” But Adora is hiding her own smile. She squeezes both of Catra’s hands tight, and she looks, for a moment, like she is going to say something, something important. But instead, “Have you decided how you’ll become a knight?”

Catra shrugs, but obediently drops the previous subject. “Part of me wants to go to war, but…”  _ I’ll miss you too much, and I don’t know how long a war would last.  _ “I’ve already done so much with Scorpia.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Adora’s voice is quiet, and though they are standing so close together, it suddenly feels like there are miles between them.

Catra takes Adora’s face in her hands, forcing their gazes to meet, and when she has Adora’s full attention, she says, “I won’t ever leave you, princess. That, I swear.”

And—Adora is looking at her lips now, so clearly wants what Catra has realized she wanted too. But.

Before Catra can even decide what to do, Adora’s face twists and she breaks away, choking coughs spasming her whole body. Catra supports her easily—realizes how much tinier Adora has gotten, how easy it is to support her whole frame—and when Adora finally straightens, in her hands is a single bloodied flower petal.

Adora quickly hides it, but not before Catra sees—“Did you just...cough up a flower petal?”

For the first time, there is some odd mix of anger and fear on Adora’s face when she looks at Catra. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Adora—”

“Don’t tell anyone! I command you not to.” As soon as Adora says it, she knows it’s a mistake, but as the words ring out through the air and she makes no move to retract them, Catra stands tall and lets go of Adora’s wrist and waist.

“Yes, your Highness.”

And she leaves.

The next time Catra sees Adora is from afar, but she knows that the Princess has spotted her by the way her face twists. It’s been almost two weeks, and every day had been hard, especially with the knowing that Adora was sick, but they are both stubborn and proud, stupidly so, so the silence continues. And breaks, when Adora collapses in the middle of this year’s squire ceremony.

(Catra is the first person Adora calls for when she wakes, and Catra rushes to kneel at her side and grasp her hand, the both of them apologizing through their tears.)

Being bedridden at seventeen is not something Catra ever thought she’d hear about her Adora, the Adora that used to sneak out to the stables and demand that the knights teach her how to wield a sword, the Adora that wouldn’t even bother shedding all of her clothes before jumping into rivers and race Catra though the halls of the castle.

But—her Adora is bedridden now, on the King’s orders.

But—word spreads like wildfire, and Catra spends too many hours opening get well gifts and reading cards, all saying the same things,  _ rest well, Golden Rose,  _ or  _ feel better soon.  _ She sometimes switches it up, says scandalous things that make Adora blush pink and snatch the card away, only to roll her eyes and see only another well wisher’s words.

But—sometimes, Catra watches Adora sleep, hates how very obviously sick she looks. She’s always hated the comparison, but Adora does look like a rose now, or at least a faded one.

What’s worse is that no one knows what Adora’s illness is: not what caused it, not how to cure it, not why she is coughing up flower petals. All anyone knows is that it is getting worse, and fast. Catra even begins to look through all the books in the library, hoping in vain that maybe there will be  _ something. _

All she learns is that the flowers are daffodils.

It seems that the whole kingdom is on edge now, waiting for news of Adora’s condition. It is then that Catra learns that Adora really is loved by all, that she was given that stupid, stupid nickname out of nothing but fondness and love. Helpless, she throws herself into her squire’s duties, and if anyone notices, they say nothing.

Seventeen, and it is Catra’s first birthday that she spends alone. Every other birthday had been spent with Adora, but she knows that being together with Adora stuck in bed would just leave them both miserable, so she stays away. One of the boys from the stables delivers a card and a small gift from Adora, and Catra cherishes it.

It is also the day she decides that she will do something.

Scorpia is the first person she tells; her knight gives her a long look and then smiles, and it is fond, tinged with sadness. “You’ve grown up well,” she says, “I’m proud of you.” She doesn’t wish Catra well, or tell her to stay safe, or even say goodbye—that is not her way, nor the way of any of the knights of Grayskull.

(She does say, though, that if she returns successful, she will be knighted immediately. Catra says  _ when  _ she returns. When, or not at all.)

Adora is her next and last stop. No one but for the nurses are allowed in her room, so Catra sneaks in through the window like she’s done thousands of times before, and of course, Adora is asleep. Even in her sleep, she looks like she’s in pain, and Catra quietly kneels at her side, allowing herself one last moment with her princess, her best friend, her everything.

“When I come back, it will be with a cure or not at all,” she whispers, “I swear it, Adora.”

Adora makes a quiet noise in her sleep, and before she can wake, Catra steals away.

The worst part about her journey is that Catra knows how much Adora would love it. She would love Plumeria, Salineas, even the Kingdom of Snows, which Catra decides she hates immediately. As the days turn into months and Catra’s journey lengthens with no sign of a cure, she grows desperate, reckless. And there is nothing to be found, not even in the Fright Zone, nor even the Three Towers. In all the land, from Brightmoon to the Valley of the Lost, all Catra learns is that no one has heard of a disease that makes a person cough up flowers.

And then—Mystacor. 

It is there that Catra finds out more than what she needs to know. The disease is nameless, the Sorceress there says, and no one quite knows where it came from, just that the victim (Catra winces at the word, at the thought of her Adora as a  _ victim _ ) will cough up flower petals when suffering from a one-sided love. That the disease will end either when the love is requited, or in death.

Which is. Stupid. Because who in their right mind wouldn’t love Adora, and why should Adora have to potentially  _ die  _ for someone that stupid?

But at least she has her answer now, and nearly eight months after leaving, Catra begins the journey back home.

Upon returning, the first thing Catra does is find Scorpia; her knight practically crushes her in a hug and, upon seeing the look on Catra’s face, urges her to the castle. “They’ll want to know what you found,” she says, “everyone will.”

Even just the thought of seeing Adora again makes Catra’s heart pound hard in her chest; she wants to ask how she’s doing, but she fears the answer, so she just nods and heads for the castle. It should be easy to go through the front gate, but Catra finds herself hesitating before her feet guide her down the all-too-familiar path around to the back of the castle so she can sneak in. Scaling the wall is just as easy as it had been before she left with all the familiar footholds; Catra climbs into the room neighboring Adora’s—still just a messy storage room—and stops short at her door, heart in her throat.

She forces herself to knock—quiet, unsure, and for possibly the first time ever, Catra feels nervous to see Adora again. She did leave without saying goodbye, and it’s been nearly a year since they’d seen each other last—maybe Adora will have forgotten her, maybe she hates her. But—

“Come in,” comes Adora’s voice.

Her face goes flat when she sees Catra standing there, and Catra bites her lip, trying for her usual nonchalance. “Hey, Adora.”

“Squire Catra. What brings you here?”

Catra looks around the room, sees so many familiar trinkets, and yellow-and-red-stained flower petals everywhere. It seemed that they’d given up on cleaning the petals up, bloodstained as they were. “May I apologize?”

“You may.”

“I am sorry, even if you don’t believe it. For leaving without telling you, and for leaving at all. I’m sorry I missed your birthday, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t come bearing better news. I—”

“Catra…” Adora sits up, and a few handfuls of petals flutter to the ground with her movement. “Where did you go?”

“Everywhere. Anywhere I could. I was trying to find you a cure, and I said I wouldn’t come back until I found one. I really searched everywhere, please believe me.”

“I do.” Adora looks like she’s about to cry, and Catra rushes to kneel by her side again, twining their hands together and only relaxing when Adora squeezes her hands tight. “Did you really look everywhere, just for me?”

“I would go to the ends of Etheria for you.”

“I wish you would stay instead,” Adora sounds wistful, and though her voice is raspy now, it is still soft, still sweet. Catra loves—

“The cure,” she blurts out, “there is only one way to rid you of this disease, these hateful flowers.”

At that, Adora laughs, and when Catra meets her gaze, she’s smiling at the petals littering her room. “I grew to tolerate them, you know. They’re kind of beautiful in their own way...they’ll always lead you back to me.”

And Catra is left speechless. Adora laughs a little seeing the expression on her face, soft and fond. “Tell me then, what did you find out?”

“The disease is nameless,” Catra blurts out instead, “and not even the Sorceresses at Mystacor know where it came from. Just that.” and here she pauses, looks down at the ground and quickly says, “anyone that has it will cough up flower petals until.” pause again, “it was caused by an unrequited love, and the only way to end it is for that love to be returned.”

“That’s the only way?”

“That, or…” and Catra refuses to say it. “I’m sorry.”

And there is only silence in the wake of her words; Catra does not dare look up, keeps her gaze fixed on the floor until Adora reaches out and squeezes her hand. “It’s okay, Catra. I think I sort of knew that this was the reason.”

Again, Catra is left speechless.

“Walk with me, Catra. I wish to see the gardens again with you, it’s been so long.”

It’s not a command, not even close, but Catra nods and easily scoops Adora in her arms, ignoring her surprised noise. Carrying Adora had never been the easiest task—Catra had always been the smaller, lighter one—but now, whether because of the sickness or because of all the training Catra has done, Adora feels as light as a feather.

Sneaking out of the castle like this is harder, but still fun as it had been when they were kids still figuring out the best hallways and corridors to take, and Catra takes in Adora’s ever-familiar scent of lavender and vanilla as she holds her close. “Where to now, princess?”

“Our bench.”

The walk is quiet; Catra has a thousand things to say, but nothing will come out, and she’s sure Adora feels the same way—neither of them have ever been particularly patient people. And she’s right, because as soon as they sit, Adora blurts out, “Where did you go?”

“I told you that already, princess.” Carefully, Catra moves closer to Adora, to her familiar weight and warmth.

“No, I mean... _ where?  _ Tell me about all the places you’ve been.”

And as always, Catra is helpless to obey Adora’s each and every whim. She tells Adora a story for every place she visited, answered Adora’s every question about the people, the food, the sights. Promises to take Adora anywhere she wants to go when she is better.

Adora doesn’t have much to tell; she’d spent most of her time in the castle, and even more of it stuck in bed. She’d started writing back to all the people that sent her gifts, and took up meaningless hobbies that could never compare to training with her sword or riding the horses—just anything to pass the time. She wrote countless letters to Catra, and burned them all.

Catra squeezes Adora’s hand in hers (still delicate, even with the callouses she’d earned from so many years of training) and promises that she will never leave her again.

And as cliche as it is, they lose track of time; the afternoon is honeyed and warm, made warmer still by soft words and softer actions, and even when the sun begins to dip behind the trees, they stay in the gardens until Adora begins to shiver. (Catra wishes she had a jacket for Adora to wear, but she doesn’t, so she picks Adora up again—”swept you off your feet, princess”, she jokes—and makes her way back to the castle.)

This time, they are caught, and quickly escorted back to Adora’s room; Adora whispers for Catra’s ears only that it is just like when they were kids, and Catra bites back a laugh, because yeah,  _ yeah. _ She’d missed that.

If the Queen is surprised to see Catra, she doesn’t show it; she sighs and shakes her head when she sees the two of them and says, tiredly, “I should have known it would be you.”

Catra stands straight and tall, but her lazy grin belies her reverence. “Of course, your Highness. But we really didn’t do anything—I took Princess Adora out to the gardens as per her request—”

“Why do you  _ always  _ rat me out?” Adora demands from in bed. Her cheeks are flushed, likely from embarrassment, and Catra just shrugs and gives her a faux innocent look. She’s half expecting the Queen to punish them both, but when they both look at her, she just smiles softly.

“Whatever cure you gave my daughter, I greatly appreciate it. But as ever, please do  _ try  _ to be careful.” And without waiting for an answer, the Queen sweeps from the room, leaving Catra sputtering and Adora speechless.

Because she didn’t give Adora a cure, just...talked to her. And—

Wait.

“I  _ cured  _ you, huh?” Catra turns on Adora, relishing the panicked look on her face and the blush on her cheeks. “Why, princess, do you have something you need to tell me?”

“Shut  _ up!  _ I don’t have anything to say to you. Go away now, Catra.”

“So soon after I promised I’d stay by your side? You wound me, princess.”

“You know,” Adora mumbles, petulant, “that if you really cured me, that means you feel the same.”

And—yeah. “It was inevitable,” Catra shrugs, “like we were destined to fall for each other.”

Somehow, Adora’s cheeks go even pinker. Catra decides to spare her (for now) and kneels by her side again. “Princess Adora, make me your knight, so I can stay by your side forever.”

Adora huffs out a laugh and runs her fingers through Catra’s hair for a moment before tilting her head up so their gazes meet. “You always were my knight, from that very first day. You always will be.”

“Always,” Catra repeats, “I swear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daffodil: rebirth, new beginnings, misfortune, and unrequited love  
> thank u so very much for this lovely [fanart](https://www.deviantart.com/legendgrass/art/Her-Knight-805811746?ga_submit_new=10%3A1563224756) by [Legendgrass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendgrass/pseuds/Legendgrass)


	5. day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are also many comparisons to heavenly bodies—She-Ra, the sun, C’yra both the moon and the stars—showing again that while they were related, they were also enemies. The moon and stars swallow the sun each night, and the sun rises again each morning. Anyway. Another thing that every myth I have read has in common is that C’yra was the only being—divine or mortal—that could mortally wound She-Ra. But other times, C’yra is referred to as She-Ra’s second sword. Their relationship was volatile, built on blood and war, but when their morals—She-Ra’s need for justice and C’yra’s need for retribution—collided, it was said that the earth and even the sky would tremble at their combined wrath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 4 - silver/gold

This late at night—and on a Friday night, at that—the library is blessedly empty, and Adora deposits her things on the desk before making herself comfortable. Thesis work isn’t due until the end of the year, but she’s seen time and time again how much procrastination had hurt the seniors in the years before her. Besides, she’s actually excited and interested in her topic: a comprehensive study of ancient Etherian gods and how they helped shape modern culture. After going over various research with her professor and his husband, they’d decided that focusing on only a few of the gods would be a much easier task, given the extensive lore and research.

So for now, Adora is researching the most well-known and celebrated Etherian god, She-Ra. She’d been able to peruse her professor’s extensive collection of Etherian artifacts, and at his insistence, even borrow whatever she wanted for her research. (“Anything for a fellow palaeophile—and please, call me George.” her professor had said, beaming.)

All Adora had taken was a small mountain of paintings and texts—both translated and left in their original language—she wishes now that she hadn’t been so shy about it, but the first draft of the thesis won’t be due for about a month, so she has more than enough time.

For now—

Adora begins to look through the pictures she’d taken, trying to get a feel for the god she is now studying; fishes her phone out of her pocket and starts a new voice memo to record her findings. “I’ve just started my research on the Etherian goddess She-Ra for my thesis, a comprehensive study of ancient Etherian gods and how they helped shape modern culture. That title may change later, but for now—She-Ra. From what I already know, she was kind of the leader of all the other gods. Here it says…” Adora skims the glyphs and continues, “she is the defender of order, uniter of all lands, king of the gods. Often times, she is seen with her weapon of choice, the Sword of Protection.”

Adora pauses the voice memo to read through a paperclipped bundle of text; interspersed are sticky notes with scrawled notes and corrections by Lance and George. When she’s finished, she unpauses it to say, “So far, She-Ra is the only god to have a sort of mortal enemy that was  _ also  _ a god: C’yra. Both are Etherian war goddesses, avenger of wrongdoings, night huntress, mistress of slaughter. It seems that while She-Ra fought for balance and good, C’yra fought for whatever side pleased her. She was invoked by the ancient rulers before battles, and demanded a sacrifice upon victory.” Squinting at the glyphs on the well-worn scroll in front of her, Adora reads, “She-Ra never demanded any kind of living sacrifice, only prayers.”

There are paintings of the two goddesses on tablets and scrolls covering her desk; She-Ra holding up a sword, a shining beacon of hope and divine retribution, C’yra, feline-headed, snarling, daggers in both hands. Even from just the images, Adora can feel C’yra’s bloodlust and rage, She-Ra’s cool partiality to justice.

“So far, out of all the Etherian gods that I have studied, C’yra and She-Ra are definitely the most interesting—in most of the myths and paintings of them, they are pictured as mortal enemies, but I have also read that they were comrades, both on the battlefield and off. My professor wrote that some myths say that they used to fight for good together until some major breaking point forced them apart—he only had half of the tablet with the story, so he doesn’t know what—and his husband writes that they were always enemies, and only fought together when their morals aligned. But…there was—here it is,” Adora reaches for another wellworn scroll and reads, “in summary, a legend that when one of C’yra’s eyes was gouged out, She-Ra plucked the brightest star from the sky to replace it. There are also many comparisons to heavenly bodies—She-Ra, the sun, C’yra both the moon and the stars—showing again that while they were related, they were also enemies. The moon and stars swallow the sun each night, and the sun rises again each morning. Anyway. Another thing that every myth I have read has in common is that C’yra was the only being—divine or mortal—that could mortally wound She-Ra. But  _ other  _ times, C’yra is referred to as She-Ra’s second sword. Their relationship was volatile, built on blood and war, but when their morals—She-Ra’s need for justice and C’yra’s need for retribution—collided, it was said that the earth and even the sky would tremble at their combined wrath.” There comes then the quiet tap-tap-tap of nails on the door, so Adora pauses the voice memo again and glances back at the door as it opens.

“Figured you’d be in here,” Catra says. She sounds fond, amused as she sweeps aside a pile of papers to sit herself on the desk. She looks at all the work spread out and makes a disgruntled face before rolling her eyes. “I hope you know what a huge nerd you are, Adora.”

“Shut up,” Adora mumbles, but it’s automatic, and there is no malice in her words. “I didn’t want to wait to start my thesis, and besides, I actually really like what I’m studying.”

“Is that so? What is all this junk, anyway?” Catra picks up the closest paper to her—a copied image of C’yra; from here, Adora can’t tell which one.

“Well, that’s C’yra, one of the Etherian war goddesses. I think you’d actually like her.”

“What do you mean,  _ actually? _ ” Catra sounds offended, but Adora just rolls her eyes and scoots her chair closer so she sits between Catra’s spread legs.

“You’re  _ always  _ telling me how boring class is.”

“Yeah, the  _ class  _ is boring. I would’ve dropped it if not for a certain pretty blonde girl though.”

Adora flushes pink and ducks her head to hide her flustered smile; then leans her head on Catra’s thigh as her girlfriend reads to herself. “Avenger of wrongdoings, night huntress, master of slaughter? I  _ like  _ her.”

“Mistress,” Adora corrects automatically, and then, “I figured you would. I’m  _ telling  _ you, they’re both so interesting!”

“C’yra and…” the sound of more papers rustling, and Catra’s thigh tenses under Adora’s cheek as she shifts. “She-Ra?”

“Yeah, another Etherian war goddess.”

“Yeah, I like C’yra better. Anyway—I’d ask if you ate, but I know you haven’t.” As if on cue, Adora’s stomach grumbles, and when she looks up to give Catra a sheepish little grin, she just rolls her eyes and tugs on Adora’s ponytail. “We’ll stop by somewhere on the way home. I could go for a milkshake—you’re buying.”

“Can I finish this first?  _ Please?  _ Their stories—”

“Will be here for you to decipher tomorrow, nerd,” Catra interrupts. “Even if this C’yra sounds pretty cool. The Bright Star, huh?”

Adora pushes herself to sit up, rests her elbows on Catra’s thighs and ignores the way she hisses (“your elbows are fucking  _ bony,  _ Adora,” Catra always says) and nods. “You’re really getting better, I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, well,” Catra shrugs. “Nerdy dead languages aren’t my thing.” But Adora can tell that she’s pleased at the compliment by the way the corners of her lips twitch up into a self-satisfied grin.

“Then how about I’ll keep researching and you can listen to me talk?”

Catra huffs out a sigh and shakes her head, amused. “You’re not gonna give this up, huh? Fine, ten minutes and we leave, it’s late.”

“ _ Thank  _ you!” before Catra can change her mind, Adora leans up to kiss her cheek and then grabs one of Lance’s books that he’d bookmarked for her. She stands so Catra can sit in her chair, and when Catra is comfortable, Adora sits as well, relaxing automatically as Catra’s arm wrap around her middle. It should be uncomfortable in the tiny chair, and it is, a little, but the little bit of intimacy makes it more than worth it.

After unpausing the voice memo again, Adora clears her throat and says, “I’m reading Myths of Ancient Etheria, the first section that is bookmarked. In summary, it says that the first time She-Ra and C’yra fought together was to rid Etheria of a scourge on the land. She-Ra, of course, felt it was her duty to restore the balance between good and evil, and the scourge—the Horde—fell out of C’yra’s grace when they destroyed one of her temples and a village that worshipped her. Even the sun and moon paused to watch the battle at its fiercest—Etheria’s first eclipse.”

From behind her, Catra makes a tiny, appreciative noise, and Adora bites back a grin. She knew Catra would enjoy this too. “This was also where C’yra became known as She-Ra’s second sword. The battle was so important to Etherian history because none of the gods worked together,  _ ever.  _ So having She-Ra and C’yra, mortal enemies, fight together on the battlefield, for  _ humans,  _ at that? C’yra was also known to be hot headed, stubborn and prideful, so her coming to She-Ra at all would have been considered something hugely important. I—”

“Second sword,” Catra nudges her, impatient and just a little bit petulant, “what about the second sword thing?”

“Right, right. As I said earlier, She-Ra always carried her Sword of Protection—its jewel in the center was said to shine brighter than even the North Star—and C’yra primarily used smaller hunting knives or daggers. This again perpetuates their sun, moon and stars theme: She-Ra’s sword bright and big, C’yra’s knives smaller and more inconspicuous. But as for being She-Ra’s  _ second  _ sword, this was because of the way they fought together; like they were on the same wavelength. She-Ra was bigger and mainly used brute force—no one else, not even the other gods, could lift her Sword—but C’yra was smaller, and like her title of night huntress, faster, more cunning. Nothing could ever hurt She-Ra, but even if things could, no one could get the chance, because when they fought together, C’yra took any enemy that even tried to sneak passed She-Ra’s line of sight. Her second sword.”

“Oh—another thing to note. The ancient Etherians believe that gold was indestructible, blessed by the gods. This belief was spread because of She-Ra: gold for immortality, blessings, and the sun. C’yra, despite being a god, has no sign of gold anywhere but for her eye, the one given to her by She-Ra. This again perpetuates the idea of gold being a sign of healing and indestructibility. Silver was instead associated with C’yra, for its symbolism of destruction, repentance, and neutrality. Even today, silver can be seen as a symbol for deceptiveness and cold; calling back to C’yra’s neutrality in her morals. Statues of She-Ra and C’yra are done in gold and silver perspectively; their temples were full of riches to show the people’s respect.”

This time, when Catra nudges her, Adora glances up at the clock. 2:46 am. She disentangles herself from Catra’s grip and stops the voice memo for good this time before settling back into Catra’s warmth; suddenly, without the buzz of new knowledge and research, she’s exhausted. “I didn’t realize how  _ late  _ it was.”

“You  _ do  _ tend to do that,” Catra sounds beyond fond, but she lets go of Adora to gently push her up after a moment of quiet. “Now can we  _ go?  _ I’m exhausted.”

“Fine, fine,” Adora huffs. She packs her things as quickly as possible—Catra doesn’t help, just sighs every few seconds as if that will somehow make things go more quickly along—and when she’s done, (“god,  _ finally, _ ” Catra says petulantly,) she reaches out for Catra to hold her hand. “Thank you for coming to get me, and staying with me even though it’s so late…”

“You would’ve done the same for me,” Catra shrugs. “And I guess it wasn’t  _ too  _ boring, besides. You picked a good topic, Adora. You’ll do well on your thesis too, I know it.”

Adora is grateful for the darkness now surrounding them; her cheeks are flushed pink and she knows Catra would tease her endlessly for it. “Thank you, really.”

“I didn’t do anything, dumbass,” even without seeing her face, Adora can practically see Catra rolling her eyes, “you don’t have to thank me.”

(And that gives Adora the oddest sense of déjà vu—she dismisses it, because yeah, of course she’s heard Catra say that before, she says it all the time.) “Then how about I buy you dinner?”

Catra snorts out a laugh and squeezes Adora’s hand, trapping her against the closed car door before leaning in to kiss her quick. “Why, Adora, are you  _ flirting  _ with me?”

“Is it working?”

Adora feels Catra smile wide against her lips before she kisses her again, again. When she pulls back, she looks soft, fond. “Buy me dinner and maybe you’ll find out.”


	6. day 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s so fucking proud—and at the end of the day, as they sit slumped next to each other in the back of the bus together, with a gold medal heavy around her neck and the silver tucked safely in Catra’s bag, Adora knows there’s no place she’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 5 - promises/lies

1.

When Adora is eight, she joins a fencing club, partially because her older sister does it in high school, and mostly because she thinks it looks  _ cool.  _ While her grandma signs her up for classes, Adora peeks through the window separating the lobby from the fencers, and despite having seen some of her sister’s matches, this is  _ different.  _ Her sister’s matches were always just one school against another, but there are easily twenty matches going on right now. There are people in full gear, milling around the room, doing stretches, running laps or watching matches, and then there are people that Adora assumes are coaches or parents watching as well. But there’s no one her age.

“Adora, dear,” Razz calls out. When she has Adora’s attention, she beckons her closer, and Adora immediately obeys, taking her hand and following her and the lady from the front desk around the length of the room to a door that she hadn’t seen from the lobby.

Down the hallway are locker rooms, changing areas and showers, and beyond that is another gym. This one is much quieter; a crowd of kids her age are sitting in a scattered semi-circle as an adult talks to them. None of the kids are in full gear, just t-shirts and shorts, just like her.

The lady from the front desk turns to look at her and says, “A class is just starting now, but Adora, you don’t have to join if you don’t want to—”

“Yes! I want to, can I please?” Adora looks first at the lady, then at the class, then to her grandma, who just nods and smiles and follows Adora over to the circle of kids as the lady introduces her to the rest of the class.

Adora sits next to a girl with her hair tied in a messy bun and the prettiest eyes she’s ever seen. When the girl glances at her, Adora smiles big, and after a moment, the girl smiles back.

Later, they pair up for stretches, and when Adora shyly asks the girl if she wants to be partners, she shrugs and nods. “My name’s Catra,” she says, sticking out a hand, “but don’t call me Cat. Everyone calls me Cat and I  _ hate  _ it.”

“Okay, Catra. I’m Adora—your eyes are really pretty, by the way.” And they are, one blue and one hazel.

Catra’s eyes turn into crescents with how big she smiles.

As the day goes on, Catra teaches Adora everything she needs to know about the coaches, their classmates, and the older fencers. This is her first year too, but she’s been coming for about two months longer, so she’s  _ basically  _ an expert, she tells Adora. She even knows what weapon she wants to fence.

“Sabre,” Catra says with satisfaction when Adora asks, “it’s the fastest, and the coolest.”

Adora makes up her mind in that moment that she’s going to do sabre too.

(When her grandma picks her up after her own practice, she ruffles Adora’s hair before asking how class was. When her giggles subside, Adora looks back to wave goodbye to Catra, and then says, “It was good! I made a new friend—we’ve already decided to be  _ best  _ friends.”)

Fencing classes are two hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday; Adora looks forward to it even though the soreness in her muscles only grows after each practice. They’re not using weapons yet, mostly just stretching, running and practicing footwork. “Conditioning is one of the  _ most  _ important parts to fencing,” their coach tells them seriously when Lonnie asks why they don’t have weapons yet, “there’s no point in giving you a weapon if you don’t have the endurance and strength to fence properly yet. Be patient, okay?”

Pretty much the whole class grumbles, but the bad news is quickly forgotten with the promise of a game of dodgeball at the end of class. (As usual, Catra wins the game, and is rewarded with ten whole dollars, to the envy of the class. She buys herself and Adora ice cream from the truck when it passes by outside, and they sit together as they wait to be picked up. They pinky promise then that they’ll always be friends, that they’ll even go to the Olympics together. “Or,  _ I’ll  _ go to the Olympics—you’ll be in the crowd watching me win gold,” Catra brags. Adora shoves her, giggling, and declares that they’ll  _ both  _ fence at the Olympics. “We’ll get gold and silver, ‘cause we’re the best in the world.”)

2.

Every Friday is a mock tournament. Sometimes it’s King of the Hill, other times they’re separated into different pools, other times it’s a direct elimination—but one thing that remains constant is that in the locker room before they head out together, Adora braids Catra’s hair. She doesn’t know why, and she’s not sure Catra knows why either, but it’s become something of a tradition for them: after they change into their gear, Catra sits down on one of the benches in the locker room and Adora stands behind her, running her fingers through her hair before twisting it pretty and quick before they head out together, always together. If Catra had her way, she’d just pull her hair back in a messy bun or ponytail, but Adora quite likes the way she looks with her hair pulled back. Likes that  _ she’s  _ the one that did it.

(“It’s just going to get messed up anyway, stupid,” Catra grumbles, but she’s tilting her head back into Adora’s touch, just like always. “You don’t have to make it perfect.”

“I know, but I want to. It’s... “ Adora pauses, tries to think of how to say that it’s her mark on Catra without it sounding weird. “I don’t know, I just want it to be good. It’s like your good luck charm.”

Catra scoffs, but obediently sits still as Adora finishes the fishtail. “I guess I’ll have to keep you around, then. Since you’re my good luck charm and all—I’ll need that for when I get to the Olympics.”

Adora is glad that Catra can’t see the way she flushes pink.)

3.

Catra, Adora, and Lonnie are chosen to represent the sabres in this year’s Junior Championship; it means staying later and working that much harder, but as Catra reminds Adora, this is just the first step to going to the Olympics together.

They’re each assigned a high schooler to work with after regular practice is over—Adora is with Mara, one of the sabres that had switched over to foil just a year ago. Mara is nice, but she pushes Adora hard enough that she wakes up sore in new places every day. “I don’t really mind that much,” Adora confesses to Catra as she braids her hair, “we haven’t really done any bladework though, just lots of weight lifting and conditioning.”

Catra makes a noise that is somehow sympathetic, disgusted and taunting at the same time. “I’ve pretty much  _ only  _ doing bladework with Octavia. It’s pretty fun.”

“I thought you hated her?”

“Oh, I do. But she’s on the varsity squad at her high school for a reason. But hey, look.” Catra pulls up the leg of her shorts and proudly shows Adora a nasty bruise on her thigh. Adora’s gaze lingers until Catra twists around to look at her, frowning a little.

“Oh! It’s—did it hurt?”

“Only when I touch it,” Catra shrugs, “I’m used to it though—Octavia just hits hard. I have no idea how she hit my  _ leg,  _ though. That’s not even our target area. It looks pretty cool though, doesn’t it?”

Adora rolls her eyes. Of course Catra would be proud of her bruise. “Come on, stupid. Do you want to come over after?”

“Is Razz cooking?”

“I think so, I can ask if you want. If she knows you’re coming over, she will.”

“Oh, good. I’m spending the night too, then.”

Adora bites her lip to hide her grin, ties off Catra’s braid and then tugs on her hair to tell her she’s done. “Sounds good.”

4.

The Junior Tournament goes well—they’re all in different pools, so they can’t watch each other fence, but as soon as she’s done, Adora pushes through the crowd to find Catra on the other side of the gym. She’s not fencing yet, but she’s focused on the match going on now, so Adora stays quiet and bounces on her toes, full of adrenaline. She stills though, when it’s Catra’s match; the girl she’s against is  _ huge,  _ tall and intimidating—but, Adora thinks, if Catra could survive with Octavia, she’ll be fine.

Her hair is braided too, so nothing can go wrong today.

(Catra wins the match, 5-0.)

As she unhooks herself, Catra looks up—meets Adora’s gaze, and smiles  _ big.  _ Adora feels like she’s going to burst with how proud she is of her friend, not only for winning, but for having such a clean match. “You did so well,” she calls out, “lunch is on me.”

She’s so fucking proud—and at the end of the day, as they sit slumped next to each other in the back of the bus together, with a gold medal heavy around her neck and the silver tucked safely in Catra’s bag, Adora knows there’s no place she’d rather be.

“Olympics next, Adora,” Catra mumbles. She reaches out and Adora finishes the pinky promise before leaning more into Catra and closing her eyes to nap on the way home.

5.

Somehow, Catra finds Adora in the crowd and with a lazy grin and, eyes on her all the while, salutes first her opponent, then her coach off to the side, and then—Adora. The quirk of Catra's lips turns challenging, almost like she's daring Adora to get flustered, and though Adora does blush, she rolls her eyes in response to Catra's nonverbal challenge.

But she does nod, and silently will Catra to win her bout.

(She does. Her hair is not braided, and somehow, that means more to Adora than anything.)

It seems almost inevitable, but they both move up to the direct elimination round, and of course, of course, they're in the same bracket. But that's for after lunch, and—almost accidentally, Adora finds Catra in the crowd and reaches out for her, pulling her close enough to ask, "Do you want to sit together?"

And Catra, gorgeous infuriating Catra, looks from Adora's eyes to where their hands are joined and back up with a raised brow before giving her a familiar cheshire grin. It's a moment before she answers, and Adora is sure that she'll say no, but—"Sure. I'll grab us seats if you get us food."

They're still holding hands, and Adora's heart stutters in her chest. She tells herself that it's from the adrenaline of the tournament, and she nods. "I'll find you in a bit."

"Of course," Catra drawls. After another moment, she shakes free of Adora's grip and follows the crowd of fencers upstairs to the balcony.

When Adora finally gets out of the food line, she's got pizza, sodas and doughnuts for the both of them, and she finds Catra sitting far away from their respective teams. She lifts a hand when she sees Adora, but she doesn't do anything to help her carry all the food. Typical Catra—it's somehow endearing even if Adora wants to roll her eyes.

Adora sits next to Catra, sitting criss-cross with their food between them. It's both comfortable and familiar, and Adora laughs a little as she remembers when they used to fence together. "Remember all of the mock tournaments? We used to sit together just like this."

"Course I remember, dork." Catra rolls her eyes, but Adora can tell she feels the same warm nostalgia that she does. "Kinda miss it, honestly. Beating you, I mean."

Adora scoffs. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Fine then, what do  _ you _ miss?"

Adora sits back, chewing on her lip and watching Catra pick at her pizza as she thinks. What she misses...everything. Being close like this, practice matches and staying late together, watching Catra from the sidelines, having Catra watch her. Fooling around and laughing together, braiding Catra’s hair, sitting close together as hot and sweaty as they'd both get after practice. Being able to just -  _ look  _ at Catra. "You, I guess."

Catra glances up at Adora through her bangs, grinning at her as Adora squirms in her seat. "Me, huh?"

"I take it back-"

"Hey. I miss you too, Adora."

"What, beating me?"

"Well, of course. But..." Catra leans back, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling as she thinks. "I miss the little things. Beating you was fun, but that wasn’t as important to me as being with you was.”

And that's. Far more honest than Adora had been expecting from Catra. "Catra, I—"

Catra looks back at her, one brow arched, and Adora shuts up. She doesn't know what she was going to say anyway— _ I think I'd fall in love with you if we were still on the same team, I miss you more than you can even imagine, I wish I hadn't moved away? _

“Can I braid your hair?”

Catra squints at her, cocking her head in an oddly birdlike motion as she looks at and through Adora. After a moment, she looks away, mouth twisted with some unreadable emotion. “I guess, yeah.”

And somehow, sitting on the bleacher behind Catra and combing her fingers through her hair feelings more natural than anything despite the silence. Catra has an undercut now, and if they had more time, if things were different, Adora knows she could spend hours just running her fingers along her buzzed hair. But as it is, all she says is, “I like your undercut.”

“Thanks, nerd. I didn’t know if I’d like it, but I do. It was kind of an impulse thing.”

Adora finishes the braid, ties it off, and then sits across from Catra, regarding her silently as Catra does the same. “Do you remember the promise we made when we were little?”

“Which one? To go to the Olympics together, or to stay best friends? I’m surprised you remembered, actually.”

Adora winces. “Both, I…”  _ I’m sorry I went to a different school, I wish you could’ve been there with me, I want to be friends again, I still have your old number but I’m afraid to text it because what if you don’t answer, but what if you do? What would we say? What if you hate me? _

“You…?”

"I—uh. Never mind. We should eat."

Catra looks almost disappointed and amused, but not surprised. "I guess we should. And hey, I'm not gonna go easy on you in the DEs just because we had this...little talk."

For as light as her tone is, and as lazy as her smile is, Adora can tell that Catra is being fully serious. And that's—Adora's heart thuds, and she tells herself that again, it's just adrenaline. "I won't go easy on you either," is what comes out automatically. "But Catra, can we...save all of that for later? I just...I like this too."

Catra  _ sighs, _ like the very idea of staying with Adora brings her pain, but she nods. Then she leans back on her hands, observing Adora through lidded eyes, and Adora does  _ not  _ miss the way her gaze steadily and slowly travels down and back up. She’d think it was almost mocking if not for the way her lips curve up into that lazy grin. "Anything you want, princess. But just until the end of the break, okay?"

Two hours. It's not nearly enough time, but—for now, it'll have to do.

(5.5.)

**from Catra:** hey adora

**from Catra** : hope this is still ur number

**from Catra:** ur chapstick tasted rly nice

**from Catra:** also jsyk i gave u a huge hickey

**to Catra:** oh my fucking god i hate you

**from Catra:** >:3

**from Catra:** ill see u at districts adora


	7. day 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s your name?” / “Out of all the things in the world, that is what you want?” as the girl comes closer to her, Adora finds herself trapped, unable to move even if she wanted to. (Not that she wants to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 6 - fantasy/reality

Adora has walked down this street after school possibly thousands of times, but she’s somehow never seen the little store sandwiched between the bookstore and the thrift store.  _ Half Moon, _ the sign above the door says, and a smaller sign banner on the window reads out  _ curiosity now 50% off.  _ The windows are tinted dark so she can’t see even a little bit inside, but Adora always  _ has  _ been curious, so she goes inside.

It smells of some kind of smoke or incense, and even inside, the store is lit dimly, only by a few old-fashioned lanterns that cast eerie shadows on the walls. There’s a girl standing at the counter, but she doesn’t say anything until Adora wanders over and stands right in front of her.

“Do you need something?” she asks, finally looking up. And Adora’s mind short circuits, because something or maybe everything about her is just unsettlingly mesmerizing. In the endless moments that Adora spends staring, she decides that it is her eyes, one sky blue and the other pale gold.

“ _ Hey. _ ” the girl says. This time, she sounds more than a little bit exasperated, and Adora startles, flushing pink at the knowing, almost mocking grin on her lips. “I asked if you needed anything.”

“Oh, um. No, I just—is this store new? I’ve never seen it before.”

The girl shrugs and leans her face against her palm. “Maybe you just weren’t seeing. And now you are.”

“The sign said curiosity—”

“I think you have enough of  _ that _ in your life, Adora. Don’t you?” Her nails, long and sharp and painted black, drum against the counter as she eyes Adora with something like impatience, something like amusement. “You know, I thought you might be smarter than  _ this. _ ”

“You make it sound like you know me or something,” Adora starts to laugh—it quickly dries up when she sees the cheshire grin on the girl’s lips.

All she says though, is, “Maybe.” And then she walks around the counter, and Adora follows her with her eyes as she wanders around the store, straightening and rearranging things as if on autopilot.

“What do you sell here?”

At Adora’s voice, she stops short, turning around to look at her with a bored expression that practically screams out  _ oh, you’re still here.  _ “You’ve got eyes, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but—” Adora heaves a sigh and waves her hand around the shop. “Nothing here makes sense, there’s no kind of order to any of it!” There are decks of playing cards next to worn books, crystal necklaces on faded gold chains on the same shelf as tiny, intricate wooden carvings, huge portraits hanging next to ornate rugs.

The girl shrugs and holds up an empty glass vial to the light, squinting at it before wrinkling her nose and putting it back on the shelf. Almost absently, she says, “I have what people need.”

“Old playing cards and empty vials?”

“Faith and luck,” the girl corrects. She must be able to sense Adora’s frustration, because she sighs and elaborates, “it’s the essence of it, the same way someone that doesn’t smoke smells like it after being around someone that does smoke.”

“So, magic.”

“I guess you could say that,” the girl shrugs. “Anyway, come back when you figure out what it is you need. I’ll be here then.”

“What? No!”

“What is it?” the girl doesn’t sound surprised, or even bored or exasperated this time. She sounds—almost fond.

“What’s your name?”

“Out of all the things in the world,  _ that _ is what you want?” as the girl comes closer to her, Adora finds herself trapped, unable to move even if she wanted to. (Not that she wants to.)

“Please.”

The girl stops in front of her, close enough that if Adora reached out, she would touch her—she does not—and then says, “Catra.”

And then, before Adora can even think of what to say next, the girl—no, Catra—continues around her and disappears behind a beaded curtain. Adora waits for a long moment before leaving the shop.

(When she tries to go back the next day, the shop is gone.)

Nearly two months later, Adora sees a blinking sign out of the corner of her eye— _ forgotten memories restored, see details inside— _ and her heart stops. Half Moon looks exactly the same, both inside and out, except that this time, Catra is sitting on the counter, a cigarette dangling precariously between two of her fingers.

“You’re back,” she says, and Adora can’t quite tell if she’s pleased or not, “did you figure out what you need?”

And as Adora looks around the shop, she sees what Catra sees: not old, discarded possessions, but vessels holding so many things like love and time and memories and passion. “I know what I want.”

Catra lifts the cigarette to her lips and hums as she inhales, then tips her head back to exhale the smoke in with gentle sigh. “And what is that?”

“You,” Adora blurts out. Catra smiles—a wisp of a smirk, really—and arches a brow, and Adora’s cheeks flush as she backpedals. “Not like that! Just—I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I almost convinced myself that you weren’t real. Are—are you real?”

Catra is still for a long moment, and then she snuffs out the cigarette before slipping from the counter to slink over to Adora. Again, she is close enough to touch, and this time, Adora does. Catra’s grin only grows when Adora’s hands hesitantly settle on her waist, and her voice is something between pleased and mocking when she says, “Oh, Adora, you want to know that I’m real?” there is something left unsaid in her words, Adora can tell, but she can’t tell  _ what. _

“Please.”

Catra smiles, just a bit, and kisses her. It’s gentle at first, surprisingly so, and Adora almost loses herself in the soft of Catra’s lips and even the sharp bite of her nails as they dig into her hips. And when Catra pulls away, Adora realizes what she had been given: the memory of her, of holding her and kissing her. The knowledge that she is real.

“Thank you, Catra,” she whispers, and, “when will I see you again?”

“I told you that already, didn’t I?” Catra looks almost bored now, but she leans in for another quick, chaste kiss before saying against Adora’s lips, “when you figure out what you need, I’ll be here.”

And that’s good enough for now.


	8. day 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, Adora can’t help thinking about Catra driving across town at two in the morning to comfort her after a bad dream, can’t help thinking about all of the things she’s said—I’d follow you anywhere, I’ll stay by your side, I’ll stay as long as you want me to, you’re everything to me—and her heart skips a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 7 - free day

The next time Adora wakes, it is to the sunlight streaming through the blinds and the quiet trill of her alarm, and the extra warmth and weight of Catra curled half on top of her. Catra has her leg tossed over Adora’s and her arm draped across her chest, her face buried in Adora’s neck.

“Are you up?” Adora asks quietly. Catra’s always been a light sleeper, startling at Adora’s alarm even when it was set as quiet as possible.

After a moment, Catra hums low in her throat and somehow curls into Adora even more; her voice is rough with sleep when she mumbles, “Yeah, your alarm woke me.”

“Sorry, you can go back to sleep if you want.”

Catra tightens her hold, keeping Adora trapped before she can even begin to ease out of bed, and Adora can tell that she’s frowning without even having to look at her. “Where are you going?”

“Just the bathroom, silly. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Catra grumbles something intelligible but lets Adora go even if she immediately grabs her pillow to hold. “You’re not allowed back in,” she sulks, and Adora doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s her bed in the first place, just laughs and runs her fingers through Catra’s sleep-tangled hair.

“Of course.”

By the time she gets back, Catra is asleep again, but her eyes slip open when Adora rejoins her in bed and her lips turn down petulantly. “You’re not allowed back in,” she insists; Adora ignores her and wraps both arms around her to keep her close. This early and still sleepy, Catra is still pliant enough to let Adora move her around however she wants, so Adora spoons her and presses her lips to the beauty mark on the curve of her neck, just below her right ear.

“I dreamt again last night,” she mumbles. Catra is quiet for a long few minutes, but when she speaks, she sounds marginally more awake than she had been just moments ago.

“What about?”

And because she knows it’ll make Catra flustered, all Adora says is, “You.”

She’s right—Catra stiffens in her arms and stutters out a weak protest as Adora muffles her laugh into her hair. “It was nice, don’t worry—I dreamt that you were...some kind of witch or something, and I kept coming back to you.”

“Of course you did—we’ll always come back to each other.”

And—oh. Adora is glad that Catra’s eyes are closed, because she must look like a lovestruck fool right now. “Always.”

“I know.” and even quieter, after rolling over to face Adora, “I dreamt about you too. You were a princess, and I was a—no,  _ your _ —knight.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Adora teases. She hopes to god that Catra doesn’t feel how quickly her heart is beating now.

“I promised you I’d stay by your side.” And now at least, Catra is embarrassed; she ducks her head and mumbles, “In the dream, anyway. But I guess...I’d follow you anywhere, Adora. You know that, right?”

And now, Adora can’t help thinking about Catra driving across town at two in the morning to comfort her after a bad dream, can’t help thinking about all of the things she’s said— _ I’d follow you anywhere, I’ll stay by your side, I’ll stay as long as you want me to, you’re everything to me— _ and her heart skips a beat. “It’s kind of funny, you know...when you say things like that, it almost feels like you’ve said them before. It’s familiar, the way you’ve always been familiar. Even when we first met, it was like...I already knew you. You know?”

“What are you saying, stupid?”

“Just...that it feels like we have centuries between us. Years upon years of time together in so many different lives. That’s why you’re so familiar to me. Because I already knew you, so many times.” Immediately after she says it, Adora already feels the first pricks of embarrassment, but before it can become too much, Catra fumbles for her hand and squeezes it.

“I get it. It’s like our souls are tied together or something.” and when Adora glances at her, startled, Catra looks away, sulking. “Shut up.”

“No, I—” Adora untangles herself from Catra enough to prop herself up on her elbow to look down at her, throat suddenly gone dry. “You’ll find me, won’t you? In our next life?”

As embarrassed as she is, when Catra looks up at Adora, her voice is steady and serious as she says, “I’ll always find you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, i am on tumblr under the same name  
> thank you for reading ♡


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